Read White is the coldest colour: A dark psychological suspense thriller Online
Authors: John Nicholl
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As the ambulance men carried their patient down the stairs the WPC shouted after them, ‘Where are you taking her, boys?’
The paramedic replied, ‘South Wales General,’ without looking back.
‘Thanks, boys, I'll follow you there as soon as I can.’
Siân looked at the officer with pleading eyes. ‘I want to go with my mum, but my brother…’
‘You must be Siân Mailer, you dialled nine-nine-nine?’
‘Yes.’
‘Your mother's in good hands. I'll need to ask you a few questions, if that’s all right with you?’
Siân nodded. ‘The downstairs bathroom window's broken and he's missing.’
‘Missing? Who's missing?’
Siân began sobbing. ‘My b-b-brother, Anthony, he’s only seven. Please, you have to f-find him.’
Oh shit, that was not good news. Why the hell hadn't she been told that before. ‘Every effort will be made to find your brother as quickly as humanly possible, Siân. Let’s go downstairs to wait for the CID officers. They shouldn't be too long. I’ll take you to the hospital to see your mum as soon as they arrive. Come on, I’ll make you a quick cup of tea, and we can talk in the lounge. It’ll be more comfortable.’
‘Okay.’
The officer switched the kettle on and waited for it to come to the boil. ‘How do you like your tea, Siân?’
‘I don’t really care at the moment.’
‘Milk and sugar?’
‘Just milk.’
She handed Siân her mug. ‘Come on, let’s take a seat in the lounge. It’s important I establish the facts as soon as possible. It’ll help us find your brother. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
Siân took a seat and sipped her hot tea. ‘I suppose so.’
‘When did you last see your mother and brother before finding your mother this morning?’
Siân took a deep breath before responding… This really mattered, she had to get it right. ‘I had some t-tea with mum and Tony at about f-four yesterday afternoon. They were in the l-lounge watching something on the t-telly when I went out to meet some friends at about half-past-four.’
The officer smiled. ‘Did you actually see them before you left?’
Siân stared into her tea. ‘No, I was in a h-hurry to get to my friend's house. Mum called me from the l-lounge when I was about t-to leave, asking when I’d be b-back, but I didn't answer. I really wish I had now.’
‘Hindsight is an exact science.’
Siân raised her eyes with a baffled expression on her face, but didn’t respond.
The WPC winced… How could she be so stupid? ‘You couldn't have known what would happen, Siân. I’m sure your mum will understand. Now then, just so I'm clear, you left the cottage at about four-thirty yesterday afternoon, and your mother and brother were absolutely fine. Correct?’
Siân nodded and said, ‘Yes.’
‘And you didn't see either of them until you found your mum at approximately half-past-eleven this morning?’
‘Y-yes, yes, I told the woman on the phone. The front door was open when I arrived, and the bathroom window was broken. I searched for my mum and Tony, and found Mum upstairs. When are you going to start looking for T-tony? Surely you should be looking for Tony?’
‘Detectives are already on the way here, Siân. They’ll arrive at any minute. This information is really, really important. The more I can tell them when they get here, the better. It will help us find your brother. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, of course I do.’
‘I’ll have a quick look at the bathroom later. Now then, what's your brother's full name and date of birth?'
‘Anthony Mailer, he was s-seven in December?’
‘What date in December?’
‘The s-second, we had a birthday tea with a cake and some of his friends came.’
‘That must have been nice. Does anyone else live at the house?’
‘Dad used to l-live with us, but he met another woman a few months ago and l-left.’
‘Do you and your brother still see him?’
‘Yeah, dad came to see the child psychiatrist with us. I think Mum and Dad may be getting back together. Mum seems to think so anyway.’
‘Your mum must have been extremely angry when she first found out about the affair.’ It was a statement rather than a question, and she continued without waiting for a response. ‘Did your parent's argue a lot?’
‘I s-suppose so.’
‘Does your father ever hit you, Anthony, or your mum?’
‘No, never! He’s not like that.’
‘Okay, I'm sorry, Siân. I had to ask. Do you think Anthony could be with him?’
‘I suppose it’s possible, b-but I doubt it. I think Dad was supposed to be coming over to see us this evening.’
WPC Williams made a note of Mike Mailer's new temporary address and said, ‘Can you think of anywhere else Anthony may be, at a friend's house, for instance?’
‘I d-don't think so. Tony hasn't been seeing much of his friends since Dad left.’ She frowned. ‘Can w-we go to the hospital soon please?’
‘We will, Siân, I promise, but this is important. Give me a list of all Anthony's friends. It may help us find him.’
Siân provided what information she could.
‘That’s great, thanks, Siân. Have you got a recent photograph of your brother?’
Siân fetched an unframed portrait taken at school a few weeks previously, and handed it over. Anthony was smiling in the picture, but there was an unmistakable sadness about him.
‘Thanks, Siân. That’s really helpful! Now show me the bathroom.’
WPC Williams heard the Vauxhall Cavalier that served as one of the forces inconspicuous CID cars pull up outside the cottage a few minutes later, and acknowledged her two plain clothes colleagues from the lounge window as they walked down the path. She instructed Siân to wait in the lounge and met the two detectives at the front door. ‘DI Gravel, DS Rankin, I’m very glad to see you both.’
She showed them the obvious access point, succinctly outlined the information collated prior to their arrival, and introduced them to Siân, who was still sitting in the lounge waiting anxiously for some positive development.
Detective Inspector Gravel acknowledged Siân with a cursory nod of his head, but nothing more… There was no time for pleasantries when a child's life was at stake.
‘Let’s talk outside, Bethan. Rankin, you stay with the girl. See if she’s got anything useful to tell us.’
WPC Williams closed the front door and looked at the DI quizzically. ‘What is it, sir?’
‘I want you to take the young girl along to see her mother. Contact me as soon as Mrs Mailer can be interviewed. Speed is of the essence. The chances of finding the boy alive diminish with every hour that passes. As soon as she’s conscious, talk to whoever’s in charge, and don’t take no for an answer. Do not contact Mr Mailer under any circumstances. Which goes for the girl as well, by the way. Leave that to me. I need to be certain what we are dealing with before approaching him.’
‘That’s going to be tough on Siân, sir.’
‘I’m fully aware of that thank you, Constable. The father could be involved. There’s no room for assumptions in this job. As soon as I rule him out, you'll be the first to know. Is that all right with you?’
WPC Williams swallowed hard. ‘Yes, sir!’
‘You’ve been in the job long enough to know that, Bethan. You're a police officer not a social worker, for fuck’s sake.’
Bethan Williams returned to the lounge, glared at Rankin with a look that said a thousand words, placed a supportive arm around Siân's shoulder, and guided her towards the panda car. ‘Come on, Siân, let’s go and see how your mum’s doing.’
DI Gravel and his experienced sergeant made a thorough search of the property as soon as WPC Williams and the teenager left the building. It was a long shot, but the inspector had once found a baby's body in a kitchen drawer, and it was a painful lesson he would never forget. They searched every room: looking in cupboards, wardrobes, under beds and in the attic, but found nothing out of the ordinary, except for a small piece of glass on Anthony’s bedroom floor. It puzzled them for a time… But could it really be of any significance?
They discussed it briefly, and concluded that the answer was almost certainly no.
M
olly was still in the hospital's busy casualty department awaiting admission to the major trauma ward for assessment by a surgeon specialising in facial reconstructive surgery, when WPC Williams and her charge arrived at South Wales General. There was, however, going to be an unavoidable delay as the surgeon had to be contacted at home, where he was enjoying his Sunday lunch with his family.
Both WPC Williams and Siân were motivated to speak to Molly for their own very different reasons. They tried repeatedly to engage her in conversation, but the combination of her injuries and the pain killing morphine in her system meant that her responses were limited to incomprehensible noises rather than words. They eventually gave up trying to communicate with her, and waited in hushed contemplative silence.
Within fifteen-minutes or so a thin young porter, seemingly covered with multiple poor quality tattoos that appeared self-inflicted, arrived to transfer Molly to the ward, with WPC Williams and Siân following close behind. Siân was increasingly desperate to contact her father, and was finding the police officer’s predictable explanations as to why this wasn't currently possible difficult to comprehend… She didn't even seem convinced by her own arguments.
On reaching the ward Molly was transferred from trolley to bed by two concerned state registered staff nurses in light blue uniforms, while the porter stood-by and watched. The ward sister made a second urgent request for a prompt assessment by the appropriate surgeon, and ensured that Molly was as comfortable as circumstances allowed. The surgeon arrived surprisingly quickly and predictably concluded that urgent reconstructive surgery was essential. The complex operation was arranged for later that afternoon. All WPC Williams and Siân could do was wait, watch the minutes tick by on the clock on the wall opposite Molly’s bed, and hope for the best.
D
I Gravel kicked his filing cabinet drawer shut in frustration, and slumped back into his office chair with his broad fingers linked tightly behind his head… He’d done what needed to be done, he'd followed the relevant standing orders, he’d written them, for fuck’s sake. But what had been achieved? Fuck all, that’s what.
The inspector closed his eyes, released his hands, bowed his head, and tapped his forehead gently with the first two fingers of his right hand… Had he missed something? Was there anything he hadn’t thought of? Anything he hadn't covered?
He opened his blood-shot eyes, rubbed them with the back of his hand, took a generous gulp of tepid coffee, and reviewed progress, or rather the lack of it, in his analytical mind… He’d arranged for a scenes of crime officer to check the cottage for potential evidence, basic good practice in complex cases, but nothing of use had been found except for a number of faint but discernible footprints in the semi-frozen earth at the rear of the stone building.
He smiled half-heartedly… It wasn't much to go on, but it was a lot better than nothing. He’d liaised with the top-brass and negotiated what additional resources he could, but they were never sufficient. Rankin was contacting local hospitals and Anthony’s friends and relatives. He’d get on with it quickly and efficiently, as he always did. DC Hawkins was collating information relating to all known criminals in the area who posed a threat to children, or had a relevant history of violence. That would take a bit of time. All available officers were making door to door enquiries and searching the immediate area. He’d told them where to look: outbuildings such as garages and sheds, any containers such as bins and water tanks, and any other place Anthony could potentially hide, or, God forbid, a perpetrator could conceal a child's body. They were reporting back at seven that evening. It was a case of fingers crossed. Anthony’s description had been circulated to all operational officers in the force area. He’d covered all the bases; what he needed now was a break.
DI Gravel loosened his paisley tie, and undid the top button of his increasingly grimy shirt… He’d have to let the team do their jobs and hope someone came up with something worthwhile. They had to do their jobs, and he needed to concentrate on his. He was their inspector not their baby-sitter, for fuck’s sake. He’d interview the boy’s father later in the day. The background checks hadn't come up with anything significant. Mike Mailer’s only prior conviction was for cannabis use at the age of nineteen, when a student at Cardiff University. That was it: no history of violence, no domestics, nothing.
The inspector sighed… It was probably a waste of his time. The father was an unlikely suspect at best, but child abductions by strangers were rare. He couldn't rule anything out prematurely. Such things had a habit of coming back to bite you in the arse. The interview needed to be done. Why not get on with it?
DI Gravel took his warrant card from an inside pocket of his ancient, but much loved grey Harris Tweed jacket, before knocking hard on June Mailer's front door. Both June and her son were upstairs: June rearranging her meagre wardrobe, everything in its place, everything coordinated, an invariably lengthy process, and Mike getting changed in his childhood bedroom in preparation for a much anticipated meal with his family at the cottage later that evening. Mike pulled up and fastened a clean pair of faded blue Levis 501 jeans, and rushed downstairs to answer the door.
Mike stood staring into the strangers face… He exuded an undoubted air of authority, he looked important somehow, despite his slightly disheveled appearance and the unmistakable smell of body-odour. And he looked concerned. Above all he looked concerned.
DI Gravel held up his warrant card in clear view. ‘Detective Inspector Gravel, local police. Mr Mailer? Mr Mike Mailer?’
Mike experienced a sudden pain it his gut as his intestines cramped and twisted… What the hell was this about? Something must be amiss? Surely detective inspectors didn't call at your home unless it was something serious?
‘What's this about, Inspector? Has something happened?’